Our rabbins are so remote from Proselytomania, that they enjoin us to dissuade, by forcible remonstrances, every one who comes forward to be converted. We are to lead him to reflect that, by such a step, he is subjecting himself needlessly to a most onerous burthen; that, in his present condition, he has only to observe the precepts of a Noachide, to be saved; but the moment he embraces the religion of the Israelites, he subscribes gratuitously to all the rigid rites of that faith, to which he must then strictly conform, or await the punishment which the legislator has denounced on their infraction. Finally, we are to hold up to him a faithful picture of the misery, tribulation, and obloquy, in which the nation is now living, in order to guard him from a rash act, which he might ultimately repent.

Thus, you see, the religion of my fathers does not wish to be extended. We are not to send missions to both the Indies, or to Greenland, to preach our doctrine to those remote people. The latter, in particular, who, by all accounts, observe the law of nature stricter, alas! than we do, are, in our religious estimation, an enviable race. Whoever is not born conformable to our laws has no occasion to live according to them. We alone consider ourselves bound to acknowledge their authority; and this can give no offense to our neighbors. Let our notions be held ever so absurd, still there is no need to cavil about them, and others are certainly at liberty to question the validity of laws, to which they are, by our own admission, not amenable; but whether they are acting humanely, socially, and charitably, in ridiculing these. laws, must be left to their consciences. So long as we do not tamper with their opinions, wrangling serves no purpose whatso

ever.

Suppose there were amongst my contemporaries a Confucius or a Solon, I could consistently with my religious principles love and admire the great man, but I should never hit on the extravagant idea of converting a Confucius or a Solon. What should I convert him for? As he does not belong to the congregation of Jacob, my religious laws were not legislated for him; and on doctrines we should soon come to an understanding. Do I think there is a chance of his being saved? I certainly believe that he who leads mankind on to virtue in this world cannot be damned in the next. And I need not now stand in awe of any reverend college, that would call me to account for this opinion, as the Sorbonne did honest Marmontel.

I am so fortunate as to count among my friends many a worthy man who is not of my faith. We love each other sincerely, notwithstanding we presume, or take for granted, that, in matters of belief, we differ widely in opinion. I enjoy the delight of their society, which both improves and solaces me. Never yet

has my heart whispered, "Alas! for this excellent man's soul!" He who believes that no salvation is to be found out of the pale of his own church must often feel such sighs rise in his bosom.

It is true, every man is naturally bound to diffuse knowledge and virtue among his follow-creatures, and to eradicate error and prejudice as much as lies in his power. It might therefore be concluded that it is a duty publicly to fling the gauntlet at every religious opinion which one deems erroneous. But all prejudices are not equally noxious. Certainly, there are some which strike directly at the happiness of the human race; their effect on morality is obviously deleterious, and we cannot expect even a casual benefit from them. These must be unhesitatingly assailed by the philanthropist. To grapple with them, at once, is indisputably the best mode, and all delay, from circuitous measures, unwarrantable. Of this kind are those errors and prejudices which disturb man's own, and his fellow-creatures' peace and happiness, and canker, in youth, the germ of benevolence and virtue, before it can shoot forth. Fanaticism, ill-will, and a spirit of persecution, on the one side; levity, epicureanism, and boasting infidelity, on the other.

Yet the opinions of my fellow-creatures, erroneous as they may appear to my conviction, do sometimes belong to the higher order of theoretical principles, and are too remote from practice to become immediately pernicious; they constitute, however, from their generality, the basis on which the people who entertain them have raised their system of morality and social order; and so they have casually become of great importance to that portion of mankind. To attack such dogmas openly, because they appear prejudices, would be like sapping the foundation of an edifice, for the purpose of examining its soundness and stability, without first securing the superstructure against a total downfall. He who values the welfare of mankind more than his own fame will bridle his tongue on prejudices of this description, and beware of seeking to reform them prematurely and precipitately, lest he should overset what he thinks a defective theory of morality

before his fellow-creatures are firm in the perfect one, which he means to substitute.

Therefore, there is nothing inconsistent in my thinking myself bound to remain neutral, under the impression of having detected national prejudices and religious errors amongst my fellowcitizens, provided these errors and prejudices do not subvert, directly, either their religion or the laws of nature, and that they have a tendency to promote, casually, that which is good and desirable. The morality of our actions, when founded in error, it is true, scarcely deserves that name; and the advancement of virtue will be always more efficaciously and permanently effected through the medium of truth, where truth is known, than through that of prejudice or error. But where truth is not known, where it has not become national, so as to operate as powerfully on the bulk of the people as deep-rooted prejudice - there prejudice will be held almost sacred by every votary of virtue.

How much more imperative, then, does this discretion become, when the nation, which in our opinion fosters such prejudices, has rendered itself otherwise estimable through wisdom and virtue, when it contains numbers of eminent men, who rank with the benefactors of mankind! The human errors of such a noble portion of our species ought to be deferentially overlooked by one, who is liable to the same; he should dwell on its excellences only, and not insidiously prowl to pounce upon it, where he conIceives it to be vulnerable.

These are the reasons which my religion and my philosophy suggest to me for scrupulously avoiding polemical controversy. From a letter to J. C. Lavater.

N°

SHAKESPEARE AS A MASTER OF THE SUBLIME

ONE is more happy in taking advantage of the commonest circumstances and making them sublime, by a fortunate turn, than Shakespeare. The effect of this species of the sublime must necessarily be stronger the more unexpectedly it surprises us and the less prepared we are to anticipate such weighty and tragic consequences from such trivial causes. I will give one or two examples of this out of "Hamlet." The King institutes public entertainments in order to dissipate the melancholy of the Prince. Plays are performed. Hamlet has seen the trag

edy of "Hecuba." He appears to be in good humor.

The com

pany leaves him; and now mark with astonishment the tragic consequence which Shakespeare knows how to draw from these. trivial common circumstances. The prince soliloquizes:

"Oh! what a rogue and peasant slave am I!

Is it not monstrous that this player here,
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,
Could force his soul so to his own conceit,
That from her working all his visage wanned;
Tears in his eyes, distraction in 's aspect,

A broken voice and his whole function suiting
With forms to his conceit! And all for nothing!
For Hecuba!

What 's Hecuba to him or he to Hecuba,

That he should weep for her? What would he do
Had he the motive and the cue for passion

That I have ?»

What a master trait! Experience teaches that pers s afflicted with melancholy find unexpectedly in every occasion, even in entertainments, a transition to the prevailing idea of their grief; and the more it is attempted to divert them from it, the more suddenly they fall back. This experience guided the genius of Shakespeare wherever he had to depict melancholy. His "Hamlet" and his "Lear" are full of these unexpected transitions causing terror to the spectator.

In the third act, Guildenstern, a former confidant of Hamlet, at the instigation of the king endeavors to sound him and to ascertain the secret cause of his melancholy. The prince detects

his purpose and resents it.

Guild.-O my lord! if my duty be too bold, my love is too unmannerly.

Ham. I do not well understand that.

pipe?

Will you play upon this

Ham.-'Tis as easy as lying. Govern these ventages with your finger and thumb, give it breath with your mouth, and it will discourse most eloquent music. Look you, these are the stops.

Guild. But these cannot I command to any utterance of harmony; I have not the skill.

Ham.- Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing do you make of me! You would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass: and there is much music, excellent voice in this little organ; yet cannot you make it speak. 'S blood! do you think I am easier to be Call me what instrument you will, though

played on than a pipe!

you can fret me you cannot play upon me.

None but Shakespeare must venture to introduce such common matters upon the stage, for no one but he possesses the art to use them. Must not the spectator, in this case, be as much amazed as Guildenstern, who feels the superior address of the Prince, and withdraws, covered with shame ?

If the artist wishes to give us, in his work, a clear and sensible proof of those perfections which he possesses in the highest degree, he must direct his attention to the highest beauties which can animate his description. The little touches of the pencil, it is true, attest the finishing hand of the master, his diligence and his care to please. But it is not in them, certainly, that we are to look for the sublime which deserves our admiration. Admiration is a tribute which we Owe to extraordinary gifts of mind. These are what we call genius in the strictest sense. Accordingly, wherever, in a work of art, there are found sensible marks. of genius, there we are ready to accord to the artist the admiration which is his due. But the unimportant adjuncts, the last finish that which belongs indeed to the picture, but does not constitute an essential part of the picture-exhibits too plainly the diligence and the care which it has cost the artist; and we are accustomed to deduct so much from genius as we ascribe to diligence.

From the essay on the "Sublime and

Naive in Belles-Lettres."